Trust Me
by Qrimzi
Summary: What has kept Jane and Lisbon from laying their hearts on the line? A series of vignettes back-dropped against a minor casefile in Ohio. Spoiler alert for up to 6x10. Jane/Lisbon romance.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Trust Me is my first ever fanfiction. It's intended as my best explanation as to why Lisbon and Jane haven't moved forward in their relationship, then says "eff that!" and moves them very forward. There is a minor case involved as a scene-setter for the story, but it isn't a very complex or accurate account of an investigation. I'll leave that to the writers behind The Mentalist who are far more adept at providing an interesting mystery.

Takes the series into account up to 6x10, but AU as of 6x11. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

ONE

* * *

She hated this. Of course she did, who in their right mind wouldn't? But this kind of thing, like him it hit her particularly hard. Patrick Jane watched her turn away from her scrutiny of the small body splayed out before them in the middle of the dark, cluttered room. Her shoulders rose slowly with a deep breath as she pretended to take in the dust and web-coated shelves to her left. They both knew tragedy well, had histories both separate and shared full of suffering, and in return their composure when faced with the evidence of just how low mankind could stoop was forced at best. He was tempted to reach out and touch her, place a comforting hand on her shoulder as much for himself as for her, but he barely entertained that idea for a second. They both had a lot to prove to their new colleagues, and to even hint at a need to give and receive comfort at a crime scene was not likely to be welcomed by anyone, including her.

Jane pulled his eyes away from Teresa Lisbon's rigid form as she continued to feign interest in the woodwork and innumerable garish knickknacks surrounding them. He took a deep breath of his own and began his turn to study the body. He wanted to get it over with, to move on to the next case where maybe, just maybe, the dead might have been deserving of their fate. In his short career with the FBI, he'd learned that few victims of high stakes crimes weren't as depraved as their executioner. Morally wrong or right, he could stomach a bullet through the skull of someone who'd lived their life dealing in corruption and fear, perhaps even taken lives themselves. But this, this lifeless child whose cropped blond hair was matted and darkened with blood, this was unacceptable. This boy couldn't be more than ten years old, it was impossible for him to bear a guilt worthy of death.

"So what do you think?" Jane startled at Lisbon's voice and looked up to see her wide green eyes now focused directly on him, still not wanting to continue seeing the dead child. He took a second to assure himself she was holding up okay, tipping his head a little as he held her gaze. She couldn't resist and gave him the small smile he was looking for.

That's all he needed. "The only thing that sticks out to me is the lack of dust settled on all these little figurines. How is a house otherwise undisturbed so freshly decorated?" Lisbon nodded her agreement having noticed the same peculiarity. Someone didn't live here, but they did frequent the old home. "But really, there's nothing left to say until we do a little more digging, speak to the senator, everyone close to him, everyone connected to this property, run any fingerprints that can be lifted from this ridiculous number of minuscule pets."

"The property doesn't belong to anyone. It was purchased by the government several years ago, a case of eminent domain, but the highway intended to run through here was rerouted away from the area before the house was ever torn down." Kimball Cho filled in.

"Oh, lovely, people forced to give up their lives only to have everything left to wild animals. 'Murrica!" Several agents stopped their careful scrutiny of the crime scene to glare at Jane. Federal employees were fiercely loyal to their government and didn't appreciate such quips, especially coming from someone whose presence they had yet to respect. Patrick held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. The agents shook their heads and returned to their duties. "Touchy," he muttered under his breath. Jane took in his heartbreaking surroundings one last time, turned on his heel, and left the room. He walked down the filthy hallway he found himself in and exited that dingy house as fast as he could.

He didn't need to hear the clamor of footsteps behind him to know that at least four people were hot on his trail. Lisbon caught up to him first and he stopped to face her, sensing she had something to say. She leaned close to whisper, "You need to behave if you want to make friends." The look on her face was not cross, but amused. He'd seen this look from her a lot, lately.

"Who says I want to make friends? I already have you," he paused, "And Cho." Cho gave no response when Jane offered him a cheerful wave. Jane smiled at his old friend and returned to walking, Lisbon at his side keeping pace. He was glad she was able to be a bit light with him given their present venue and he wasn't quite ready to risk that she might retreat into herself over this case, so he continued talking. "I'm pretty sure Abbott is starting to like me, too, Lisbon, so you might want to play your cards right if you don't want to be in competition with him."

"In competition, huh? For what prize?"

"For what prize? You're my dearest friend, Lisbon," his voice was teasing, "I'd do anything for you, but I can foresee Abbott taking that position in my life if I become as fond of him as he is of me."

She gave a little snort. "Oh, okay. Thank you for the warning."

"No problem. I'm rooting for you so I wanted you to know."

"Uh-huh," They were no longer walking having reached the SUVs that had brought them to their present location, and now stood toe to toe. They grinned at each other, pleased with their shared moment of humor. It really was so nice to be near each other again after more than two absurdly long years apart. Sometimes Patrick still couldn't believe the fact that he was able to just see her face again nearly every day. And here, in the sun, he had always loved the way her eyes looked in the sun. In the bright light of day you could see that her green eyes were really a complex collage of gold, brown, and blue, and he sobered a bit looking at her, his smile faltering.

"We have got a number of interviews to conduct and need to begin immediately." Agent Dennis Abbot boomed as he closed the distance between himself and the two new members of his team. "Several people on our list are already waiting at the field office, including very important, very put-out individuals of this community. Agent Cho, I need you to stay here for the time being to oversee evidence collection and ensure proper handling of the body. Agent Fischer-you, Jane, and Lisbon are with me." He stopped in front of Patrick Jane and leveled him with a no-nonsense scowl. Jane's expression wasn't any friendlier after hearing Abbott's purposeful slight in not calling Lisbon 'agent'. "I am watching you Patrick, you understand? Get in the car. Back seat," he added when Jane reached for the handle of the front passenger door. Abbott instead hopped in to the front passenger side, and Lisbon climbed in behind him. She was about to slide over and make room for Jane, but another agent quickly took the vehicle's last available seat.

Resigned, he stepped back and shut Lisbon's door for her with a nod goodbye. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him, unbothered by anything that had just passed. Lisbon was confident, she knew she was a good investigator and would continue to prove her worth to Abbott and the rest of the FBI. "Let's go, Jane!" He looked down the row of SUVs to see Kim-no, Agent Kim Fischer, he corrected himself-standing by one of the large black vehicles about four yards away. He jogged toward her, and with exaggerated flourish gestured to the SUV as if to say, 'after you'. Fischer climbed in to the same seat Abbott had claimed in Lisbon's car, which was already pulling away, and Jane took the seat behind her.

Kim Fischer. She reminded him of Lisbon, in a way. She, like his old partner, held within her both strength and warmth, both unflappable capability and a carefree spirit. The real difference between the two women was, he mused as the car they were riding in was maneuvered off the overgrown lot and onto paved road, much to her chagrin, Lisbon was guileless. She was tough and capable because she'd had to survive, but the silliness and gentleness she possessed in such great quantities, she had never purposefully hidden these. She had lost them. Somewhere along the way, to sorrow and the need to grow up faster than any child should ever be burdened with, Teresa Lisbon had lost the little girl inside who had a lust for life. But she had always been there, just under the surface, and over their years together Lisbon had been happy to relearn playfulness. For his part, he had been even happier having a hand in teaching her to enjoy the lighter side of life. He was extraordinarily protective of her not because she was weak, but because for all that she'd been through and for all of her ardency when it came to defending others, she was incapable of the deceit needed to protect her own heart. Lisbon just was who she was. She was honorable and had a capacity to love in a way he'd seen only once before.

The woman in front of him now was not quite so unaffected. Jane knew that underneath all of the bravado, Kim Fischer had a softness that she felt the need to hide with suits and structure. The armor she wore was carefully constructed, a point of pride for her. He didn't see someone who was wounded, but rather someone who had an inherent need to validate her hard work. She feared not being a valuable player in her field and had learned to steel herself against anything that could possibly hinder her ability to efficiently do her job. But the front she put on day in and day out left her tightly wound, and during their time together in Venezuela he'd seen in her a need to connect with someone as great as his own, and seen in her the need to just let go for once. He'd thought at that time that they'd use each other to put a band aid over their individual ails. Ultimately, she'd managed to dupe him not with her lies, but with her own inner truths that she'd failed to mask.

That she'd tricked him at all wasn't something he really worried about, though. She had just been doing her job, and she'd done it well. They were colleagues, now, and he was a free man. The past was the past. It was stop looking behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

* * *

"Senator John Cagley, victim's father, is in interrogation room one. Rachel Cagley, victim's mother, is in room three. In room two-"

"Send everyone home. I can't work here, it's too sterile." Jane didn't need to hear Abbott's rundown. What he needed to know couldn't be found here in these white walls and neon lights. The lobby of the FBI's local field office was an endless sea of brightness. White walls, white tile floor, white folding chairs, white receptionist's desk, white receptionist...

"Excuse me?" Abbott was incredulous. Was this man ever going to bring sanity to the table?

Patrick shrugged. "I can't work here. Everyone's going to act guilty in this environment. It's cold, intimidating. Boring. Yuck."

"Fortunately for us, and the boy's family, you don't get a say." Fischer said.

Lisbon knew Jane had his reasons for wanting to let everyone go, but still tried to appeal to his sensibilities for the sake of diplomacy. "These people were asked to come in for interviews and complied despite receiving the worst news possible only hours ago. We're not just going to send them home."

"If you want anything useful from me, you'll need to send them home and schedule interviews at each of their houses for tomorrow."

"We'll conduct interviews where and when -I- say, Mr. Jane. We are not sending these people home without learning everything we can from them." Abbott was obviously short on patience, yet his composure never wavered. As supervisor he would get his way. Period. And the look Lisbon was giving Jane pleaded with him to just stand down for the time being.

"Alright." He shrugged again. "It's not like I have anywhere else to be, wasting time is as good a pastime as any."

Abbott stared at his new asset for an uncomfortably long moment, seemingly searching for something to say, then gave up. "Lisbon, you and I will be in the observation rooms for these interviews speaking to Agent Fischer and Jane through earpieces when necessary. Jane, Kim will be conducting each interview while you refrain from speaking unless absolutely needed."

Lisbon raised her brows at this. Jane control his tongue? Right. Abbott motioned for her to follow him then disappeared through a windowless door. With one last pleading look at Jane, and his cheeky grin in response, she too left the lobby.

"You know," Fischer turned to him following the departure of their colleagues, ready to take advantage of a rare moment alone with Jane, "She says she doesn't know how she made it work. With you, I mean."

Did she mean Lisbon? He was not about to have this conversation. "Shouldn't we be focused on our jobs? We have important people to intimidate."

Kim was unperturbed. "I think part of her believes she actually managed to control you somehow. But as good an agent as she may be, that's not how you work, is it?" The senior agent had spent the last several months taking in and digesting the interactions she observed between Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon since his return to the States; there was something about their relationship she hadn't been able to quite piece together. What exactly tied this man so strongly to that woman? One's mind couldn't help but assume a romance, that passion would be the only thing that could keep two people fiercely bound together through everything she had read in their files regarding their careers and McCallister, followed by a prolonged separation. Yet she truly believed there had been no misconduct between detective and consultant. So what was behind this almost excessive loyalty if not a deep and abiding love? She hadn't really understood until recently. But now, having seen the occasional glimpse of them in private moments such as earlier by the SUVs, there was no doubt in her mind about one thing. It -was- love. The only question was, how much did either one of them even acknowledge that?

Jane stared disbelieving at Kim, completely taken aback. Where did she intend to go with this? At his silence, she continued, "You can't be controlled, can you? Not unless you want to be. You've already proven yourself willing to give up everything to get your way. So what is it about Agent Lisbon that makes you want to be near her, under her control?"

"Believe me when I say this," Patrick's voice was low, "I will address the subject of Lisbon this one time only. In the beginning, she was the one heading the investigation into Red John. She was someone I needed to achieve my goals since my connection to her gave me hands-on access to that case. Over the course of our working together, her unwavering honor and integrity made me want to show her the same, give back to her the respect and loyalty she offered me and everyone else around her. Lisbon is all goodness and honesty. I came to trust her implicitly, no one else. If you mean to imply anything illicit between myself and Agent Lisbon or that she has been anything less than a professional entirely worthy of the regard I've shown her, we may find ourselves with a problem." By the end of his little monologue, his voice had risen just enough to tell Fischer she'd managed to ruffle his feathers. Finally. It was nice to see him being the one off balance for once.

She wasn't intimidated by his tone or his glare, Kim rather found herself more and more appreciating the constant challenge that was Patrick Jane. "Well I will address this only once, as well, Patrick. So far, I like Lisbon. Her file certainly speaks for her character. Unlike my colleague," she gestured toward the door Abbott had led Lisbon through, "I don't have any reservations about her or her value to our team, no matter how she ended up here. My concern-actually, my shared concern with SA Abbott-is you. Now, I don't know about Lisbon, but she seemed pretty reluctant to end up here..." Kim paused when Jane couldn't help but flinch at that, "Let me get right down to it. I think you have feelings for her. Not only friendship, or loyalty. I believe you're in love with her and we need to know that that's not going to be a problem." She raised a hand to stop him when he opened his mouth to object before persisting, "We're not going to tolerate inter-office drama at the FBI, or find ourselves one day risking someone's life because some lover's quarrel interferes with good judgement. We don't have time to deal with broken hearts or any lack of focus on the job. And if we notice any of these problems, whose credibility do you think will be ruined? Who do you think will need to go? Our deal is with you, Jane."

Kim waited for him to respond, but he seemed almost dumbstruck. He wasn't looking at her, but through her, lost in his own thoughts.

"Patrick, have I made myself clear?"

No, he thought to himself. He was blindsided by this topic, felt ambushed into addressing that which he was still sorting out for himself. Oh, he knew Kim was right. He'd known for a long time that what he felt for Lisbon was more powerful than simply friendship. Even in paradise, finally free from Red John's domination, he would imagine Lisbon with him to make it through each day. He'd convinced himself it was loneliness and his decade-long connection to the little brunette that left him pining for her company, but when the presence of a beautiful, unattached woman-the very one in front of him right now awaiting his response-didn't stop him from thinking in terms of letters to Lisbon, didn't stop him from wanting to share everything with her and imagine her reaction to it all, he had to face facts. His connection to Teresa Lisbon wasn't merely the fruit of their shared proximity for so many years and something that could fade when that proximity ended. He needed her. He realized when Kim mentioned that going back could actually mean moving forward that maybe moving forward -with- Lisbon was exactly what he needed to free himself from the misery and loneliness handed him by McCallister so many years ago. Running away certainly hadn't done it. Rather, he'd become as motionless as ever, getting older but not going anywhere. He needed to finally let himself be happy to move forward, and there was only one person who gave him honest to God happiness.

Once back in Lisbon's presence he found himself giddy, extraordinarily moved to finally see her face and hear her voice again. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, if that was even possible. But looking into her eyes, Jane remembered why they'd never crossed that boundary between friendship and lovers before. For a while he'd actually forgotten, blamed strictly himself and his own obsession.

He was fully aware that Lisbon cared for him, he had seen love slowly grow in the way she looked at him over the years. At first recognition of her feelings, Jane had actually felt confounded, but soon he was coveting her affection for him. The way she would look at him, it grounded him. Still, he was completely unwilling to explore his own feelings any deeper. His concern was not just that Red John might target Lisbon-heaven knows he didn't need to sleep with her for the killer to have known she was his Achilles' heel-but that he could be happy with her. To love someone as good and decent as Teresa Lisbon could easily have stolen Jane's resolve to destroy the man who'd slaughtered his wife and child. He didn't want to become complacent, he didn't want to grow any more weary of his hunt than he already sometimes had felt. He never wanted to resent Lisbon for something that wouldn't have been her fault: his preference for her arms, her bed, over his quest for revenge. The only other option would have left her with a lover who didn't put her first, and he wouldn't have been able to bear that, either. She deserved better than what he could offer, so Jane forced himself to ignore what he saw in her gaze, all the while refusing to acknowledge the way he felt about her, as well, denying to himself the way she had become as important to his existence as oxygen.

But the fact of the matter was, Lisbon warred with her feelings for him as much as he warred with his for her. Alongside of the love he saw in her eyes was something that sometimes hurt him: Lisbon didn't -want- to love him. He understood it was fear to blame. She was afraid of him for reasons that had nothing to do with him and reasons that had everything to do with him. On top of worry over her reputation, Lisbon was someone who loved so well that she had been left fragile. The loss of her mother, the downfall of her father, three trouble-prone brothers, and lost loves past, each had left her a little more broken until her heart was but pieces precariously stacked back together after each blow. She pushed people away because she feared how easy it would be for anyone she let close to topple what she'd so carefully pieced together over the years. So it didn't help that she didn't completely trust Jane, and if he put ego aside and was honest with himself, he couldn't even blame her for that.

For a long time he genuinely could not have predicted what her reaction might have been if he were to give in and woo her. Would she melt, confident in the knowledge that he returned her feelings, or would she run as fast as she could, unable to believe he was trustworthy with her heart and not wanting to risk her only true friendship?

Although it had taken him until long after the adrenaline of finally killing the man who'd slaughtered his family had worn off to become conscious of it, any doubt he'd had about how she would receive him was washed away the day he left her alone in the sunset. He had nearly faltered at the openness he saw in her face after expressing to her just what value she had to him. He was so close to Red John he could taste it, yet for one moment after he'd held her in his arms, felt her slim waist as he lifted her phone, he hesitated and nearly chose to stay on the cliff with her and do nothing more than watch the sun go down. But a serial murderer who'd laid his hands on her once already was out there, and she didn't deserve any of the resentment he might have felt if he'd missed that opportunity to stop the depravity once and for all and enact his revenge.

He thought about that evening on the cliff his entire trip back to the United States, to Lisbon. He thought that maybe they were both ready to end their static lives and move forward with something new together, and pictured their reunion over and over again based on what her reaction to him had been on that night two years ago. And then she was there, really there in front of him. And he really could reach out and touch her. And he really was finally once again looking into her beautiful eyes... her eyes...

...Her eyes that regarded him with every ounce of affection he remembered, but were more guarded than he had ever imagined possible. Jane wasn't surprised when she balked at being one of his demands, but he was stunned when, on a flight from Texas to New York, Lisbon let him know under no uncertain terms that she was no longer that woman he left on a California cliff-top. She still believed in him, which he cherished, but she no longer was willing to trust him with herself. He had shattered that, which left him back to wondering what she would do if he ever decided to pursue her, whether she would run as fast as she could having learned her lesson about placing her bets on him when it came to the stakes being her heart.

So, had Kim made herself clear? Was she telling him he couldn't have an inter-office romance at all, or just not a bad one? Or was it that Fischer was referring to the fact that he apparently was wearing his heart on his sleeve while Lisbon had been nothing but resistant when it came to working with him again? None of it really mattered, he supposed, regardless of what she meant. His relationship with Lisbon was presently at a standstill, and if that evolved, it would be no one's business. They were both professionals, they both had their dignity, so they would make sure it stayed no one's business. Besides, neither one was willing to risk the relationship they already had, so he knew that if they ever found themselves sharing a bed and a future, it could only be good. So, so good.

"Jane?"

"You've made yourself very clear, Agent Fischer." She couldn't read his face, but his voice was suddenly far too friendly.

"I don't mean to offend you, or to imply anything. I simply thought a warning about what we will and won't tolerate was only fair. There can come a point where you are more a burden than a value." Kim was floundering now. She'd crossed a line, again, and she knew it. While there may be professional concerns about himself and Lisbon, Jane wasn't blind to the fact that Fischer was ultimately trying to satisfy her own curiosities. For someone who was worried about there being a tense working relationship on their team, she certainly was aiming to get herself one.

"Why are we still standing here, Kim?"

Kim had become suddenly very uncomfortable and was grateful for the change of subject. "Uh, an agent was supposed to meet us here to set us up with earpieces. He, um-"

"Ah." Jane cut her off, unwilling to do anything to ease her embarrassment, including listen to her try and fill the silence.

"Agent Kim Fischer?" Patrick and Kim turned to see a young man in a dark business suit emerge from a door across the lobby from the one Abbott and Lisbon had gone through.

"Yes. Agent Adams?"

"That's me." The agent took Fischer's offered hand in a quick handshake. "I'm going to hook you two up and then have our tech guys in each of the observation rooms test the audio, okay?"

Oh, this was going to be -so- much fun. Jane rolled his eyes, already impatient.


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

* * *

"Nothing? You had -nothing- to say?"

He loved the expression Lisbon was wearing right now. Priceless. "I warned everyone that was no environment to read people. Did you see the way they all squirmed? Even the mother-who is, by the way, in no way a suspect-was fidgety before we ever sat down across from her. One after another, squirm, fidget, squirm, fi-"

"Alright, but not even one word from you... I can honestly say that the great Patrick Jane will always manage to surprise me. I didn't think you had that in you."

"There's a lot you don't know about the great Patrick Jane, Lisbon. Especially now, I'm a new man."

"And this new man has the ability to keep his mouth shut? I think I like him."

"Good, because he likes you." He gave her a lopsided grin and winked, and she couldn't help the answering smile that spread across her own face.

"Well if he liked me, he'd make my life easier. Abbott was not happy when you gave us absolutely nothing. They expect me to have some sort of power over you." She bit her lower lip and he nearly opted for just flirting with her again, she did leave the door wide open for it with that one, but instead decided to address the edge of frustration he was starting to hear in her voice.

"Please trust me, Lisbon." Jane had to admit, prior to the interviews there had been a possibility that getting into the homes of those on the FBI's list of people closest to William Cagley could turn up nothing, that someone entirely unrelated to the boy might have killed him, of course. But now Jane was certain he was on the right track and his obstinacy today wouldn't be in vain. In fact, if he was indeed right, he bet they would have the right person in custody by dinner tomorrow. And he told her that.

The look she gave him was incredulous. "'Trust you, we'll be done by dinner'? Thanks, glad to be kept in the loop."

Patrick gave a small noncommittal grunt in answer.

It had been a long, tedious day, and he didn't really want to talk about the case anymore as he sat with Lisbon on the boxy sofa at the front of his little airstream trailer. It was actually his third one, and not his favorite with it's aged mustard yellow decor and the capability of nearly every surface in the thing to fold out into a bed. Since it wasn't feasible to drive a single RV across the country case to case, the FBI had taken to renting one for Jane and a vehicle to tow it in each individual town they visited. The trouble of it all actually left him feeling like more of a pain in the ass than he had intended on being when he made the request, but still, he got a kick out of his private abodes and wasn't about to turn them down.

The team, minus Cho, had conducted nearly a dozen lengthy interviews that day following their equally draining visit to the crime scene. Okay-Fischer, with Abbott and Lisbon in her ear, conducted them. But Jane had sat upright through every one, using every ounce of effort he had not to be disrespectful and doze off. When finally the last person they had wanted to speak to was sent away, everyone involved in the investigation of William Cagley's murder-Abbott, Fischer, Cho, Jane, Lisbon, and numerous local detectives-had a meeting to discuss their game plan for tomorrow. Jane insisted on meeting with the exact same people with whom they had just spoken, but this time at each of their residences, while Abbott insisted they move forward according to proper procedure for crimes against children of public figures.

Scheduling for the in-home interviews was to be done first thing in the morning.

Lisbon had left for her hotel room following the group's powwow with nothing more than a quick goodbye to Jane. After resisting for an hour or so he called her, as he had started doing, to swing by "his place". She showed up, as she had started doing, about an hour or so later. The pretense was always whatever case they were on, but they rarely discussed anything significant pertaining to it. For his part, Jane wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he simply was unwilling to have her out of his sight for too long. And, he was certain her motive for turning up was similar.

"Fine," he said after some silence had passed between them. "I am confident I know who the killer is. We did speak to her today, but I'm hoping to make the final connection tomorrow from inside her home. I want to go around to everybody so we're not waiting on a search warrant after she gets suspicious and refuses us entry because who wouldn't get suspicious being the only one-"

"-Her-? You didn't mention all day that you thought the killer was a woman!"

"They called a profiler up in the middle of the night to fly all the way out here to the charming town of "Nowheresville", Ohio. It didn't seem fair to step on any toes. He'll tell you it's a woman soon enough."

Lisbon breathed his name in exasperation. He reached out and tapped her knee with two fingers. "I think you'll figure it out for yourself, anyway."

"Oh, are you trying to build my confidence, now?" Though she tried to joke, her good humor was waning and he struggled to think of a way to lighten things up again.

"No, no, no. Of course not. Who's more confident than the great Teresa Lisbon?" He said, throwing back at her the way she'd referred to him a few minutes before. "Mostly I don't want to embarrass myself if I'm wrong. But if I'm not, I think you'll see it immediately."

"Jane-"

"Just have patience, Lisbon."

"You know what?"

"I've told you, I'm not psychic. But if I had to guess, I'd say you want to hit me."

She swatted his arm, then smiled again. "I'm gonna let it go, just enjoy the ride."

"Good for you, makes things more exciting."

She hummed in acknowledgement, then leaned back against the rough couch cushions and closed her eyes. Jane took the opportunity to drink her in-her freckles, her pout, the dark hair that sat wavy on her shoulders now.

He thought about his conversation with Kim Fischer earlier. Would a more meaningful relationship with Lisbon really undermine her credibility? She fought so hard for her career, what would opinion be of a woman who dropped everything to go be with a man who turned out to be her lover? How would people regard her if her job was secured by the man in her bedroom?

Perhaps he really hadn't thought this through. He'd been headstrong, inconsiderate. All he'd focused on those months ago when he made the decision to return was that he wanted to see her again, wanted to move forward with her by his side, and wanted to repay her for everything she'd done for him and for the loss of her career. It had seemed like a perfect plan at the time.

But now the dust had settled, and he wondered if his only options were to keep hurting her in some way; what he had finally admitted to himself he wanted really could affect her well-deserved good reputation. Shit, was he ever going to be good for her life?

He pulled out of his reverie to see that Lisbon had opened her eyes. At some point he'd leaned toward her and was so close he could smell her faint, powdery perfume. Neither one of them moved. The way she was looking at him, eyes dialated in the poorly lit trailer, lips slightly parted... He leaned in just a little more, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. The FBI could screw itself-

Lisbon pushed up off the couch too quickly to be graceful and stumbled a bit before getting her bearings. He rolled his eyes. Smooth.

"I'm... I'm gonna go."

Patrick swallowed his disappointment, then nodded, his lips in a tight smile. "You do need your rest if you're going to be astute, tomorrow." He took a moment to steady his breathing before standing up in front of her. He wasn't going to start them on a new course tonight, or think about the fact that the most prominent emotion in her eyes right now could best be described as alarm, but he needed to touch her before she left. Without allowing either one of them a chance to retreat, Patrick wrapped his arms around her small form and pulled her close. Lisbon startled at first contact, but recovered quickly and didn't resist returning his embrace. They held on for several moments before he felt her start to pull back.

"Just give me a minute," his voice was rough.

She shivered from the feeling of his warm breath on her shoulder, and tightened her arms across his back once again.

"Thank you, Lisbon, for choosing to be here."

"You're welcome. Hey, is everything okay?" Now she did pull completely away in order to see his face. Patrick dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back.

"Everything's fine. I just wanted you to know that I'm glad you're here, doing this with me. It means everything."

"I'm glad to be here. It's certainly a far cry from what I was doing in Washington, you know?" She gave a little laugh. What an understatement.

"Yeah." He murmured, averting his gaze for a moment as he tried to tamp down the notion that her as-yet unblemished esteem might have been better off in Washington. "No regrets?"

"No. Not yet, anyway." They both grinned under the dim glow of the trailer's little plastic ceiling lights. That was something else they'd started doing, besides seeking to spend the end of each day together: just smiling at one other, smiling for no other reason than pleasure at the other's presence. Lisbon, like usual, was first to pull away from their connection. He noticed her eyes were wet, and, judging by the stinging he felt, knew his were, too. "I'll see you tomorrow. Very astute, hopefully."

"Always, Lisbon. See you."

She let herself out then, but he remained frozen where he was by the couch, lost in thought. Despite not knowing if it was the best thing for her professional life or even if she was willing to give in and explore her feelings for him-feelings he could see she still had-he couldn't keep from wanting her, from wanting to tell her and show her that he felt just as strongly about her as he knew she did about him. They were each irreplaceable to the other, and he didn't know how many more times he could see her walk out his door at the end of the day. They would work everything else out, deal with whatever consequences came their way. But they could never get this time back, and, when he considered everything that had transpired since their first meeting over a decade ago, time was already something they'd lost far too much of.


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

* * *

Jane was certainly more talkative today. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and so far he had managed to offend one supervisory agent, one special agent, a mourning mother, father, uncle, and grandfather, two house maids, and one FBI agent from the Ohio field office who was serving as the team's escort, shuttling them around town in another over-sized SUV. Lisbon, for her part, had been mostly quiet, concentrating on every detail she could remember. What had the rest of them missed that Jane saw? Several interviews in and having learned absolutely nothing new, she thought about a time past when she'd have had serious misgivings about whether they were scratching at raw wounds for no reason.

_Trust me._ Professionally, she genuinely had come to trust him. Mostly. She trusted implicitly his ability to connect the dots of human behavior, they'd never have lasted as partners otherwise. But his methods, the games he played which frequently left her to the point of exasperation-hell, mortification-would lead her to an early grave. The skillset of a master charlatan in the hands of someone seeking redemption, someone pompous and prone to artifice yet good at heart and well-intentioned, proved to be both a blessing and a curse to her professionally. As much as she admired him, there were times Lisbon struggled to remember that closing as many cases as they did together was indeed worth the countless beaureaucratic messes she'd had to clean up over the years.

On a personal level... Oh, God, the personal with Patrick Jane. This was not the place to go down that rabbit hole, she chided herself. Personally, even long before he'd wriggled his way into her heart, even longer before she'd ever pictured him in her bed-in those first years with him when he was still so broken she could hardly relate to him as anything other than the grieving husband and father he was-even then having him as a part of her life was a ride on the world's most undulating roller coaster. Jane was not an easy man to invest one's emotions in. He was difficult, unpredictable. His expectations of her? Unreasonable. How many times had he pushed her past her own boundaries of conduct? How many times did he draw her out only to leave her scrambling to recover her delicately-crafted poise? To have fallen for him all the same... she was a masochist. Had to be.

"What happened to enjoying the ride, Lisbon? You stare straight ahead at the road too hard and you miss all the important scenery around you." Jane leaned down from behind Lisbon to whisper in her ear as the team waited on yet another porch that day. Fischer, standing in front of Lisbon, glanced back past her petite colleague and shared some sort of look with Jane. What was that about? Lisbon looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, I must be talking when I'm not supposed to." He offered dismissively.

"I see," she said, not believing him. Lisbon had yet to learn just what had transpired between Fischer and Jane during the two's apparent island encounter that led to his return, but Jane had always seemed intrigued by the woman, not unhappy with his memories of her there. Today, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Where his offenses toward people tended to be born of a playful cockiness, starting this morning he had been quite clipped with Kim. Kim, on the other hand, seemed to slowly degenerate from a palpable unease around Jane to just as irritated with him as he was with her.

Lisbon was completely baffled. Cho, to her left, shrugged one shoulder in apathy when she turned to him with a look that said, 'When the hell could anything have even happened to cause this development?'

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door Abbott had knocked on moments ago opened with a flourish to reveal a short man in his 50's, graying hair as unkempt as his blue jeans and black sweatshirt.

"I was expecting you lot quite a bit earlier. Come in," he led the way into a room that, aside from appearing free of dust and cobwebs, was strikingly similar to the environment where William Cagley's body was found. Hoards of figurines covered every square inch around them, the color of the walls a mystery with the miscellany of shelves squeezed together across every one. "There certainly are more of you this time. Wow. Excuse the mess, Marjory doesn't have a whole lot of self control when it comes to her passions." Evan Browder and his wife lived in a modest cottage that was stationed half an acre behind Senator Cagley's mansion, the last and smallest home on the property. The couple both worked for the Cagley family, he being in charge of landscaping and pool care, while Marjory was among five maids who kept the family's estate clean and running smoothly.

"Oh, my," Jane murmured as they all took in the thousands of tiny creatures, stunned, "I actually thought this connection was gonna be more subtle. Lisbon, if you don't get it now you should probably sign up for a few detecting 101 classes."

"Mr. Browder, where -is- your wife?" Lisbon asked, barely recovered from the shock of being surrounded once again by the countless creepy little faces of kittens, rabbits, puppies, and cherubim children. She really hated these kinds of knickknacks.

"She's in the main house. Weren't you just over there?"

"Just? No, we were checking in with some of your colleagues. But we were told she wasn't going to be working, today." Cho answered.

Abbott added, "What is she doing at the main house, knowing we were going to be showing up this afternoon?"

Evan began to look suspicious of them and their inquiry into his wife's whereabouts. "She likes her tea with the girls," he said, referring to the other maids. "You lot were late, the man who called said we'd be talking again around one. You didn't show," The man was nervous, as he had been the day before at the field office. His eyes flicked between Jane and Fischer, the only two familiar faces in the room, despite neither one having yet spoken to him today.

Jane had said "her" in reference to the murderer last night, so Lisbon decided to get right down to it and cross Evan Browder off everyone's sudden and very short list of suspects. He might be as skittish as a wild animal, but that, apparently, was nothing more than a personality flaw. "Does your wife have a collection of these... figures... that extends beyond the ones we're seeing here, Mr. Browder?"

"Oh, heavens, yes." He said, "There are more in the bedrooms, the bathroom, one or two in the crawl space, those ones are broken. She spends little money on anything but these." He picked up a pocket-sized beagle looking puppy that had it's nose in a yellow flower and it's ass in the air.

"And that's it?" Fischer asked.

"That's _it_? What do you mean, _'that's it_'? My God, what else could there _be_?" Despite living in the thick of them, Evan appeared rather bewildered by his surroundings.

"Okay, okay," Jane soothed. "Now we know why you're such a Nervous Nellie, the slow onset of insanity from an army of cutesy bric-a-brac can do that to a guy."

Evan held up the beagle. "Why are you asking me about these things?"

"Mr. Browder," Lisbon again. "Does your wife have any problems that you know of with the Cagley's or their son?"

"No, she doesn't. Not until recently, at least. Right, Browder?" Jane answered before the increasingly agitated man could open his mouth. "Why is this space here empty? There are figures spread out onto the floor and balanced on your furniture, but right here on these shelves behind a single row of the ugliest little humanoids I've ever seen you could fit at least thirty, maybe forty more. Where did these figurines go?"

"I... I have no idea. I asked Marjie that a few days ago, and... and she just said she was making room for new additions. But... but you know what's funny?"

"I've been told I don't," Jane remarked absent-mindedly, having picked up two kitten statues meant to look like they were playfully batting at something in the air. He clashed them together while faintly mimicking the sound of cat screeching.

Evan didn't seem to know what to do with Jane, but when no one else appeared alarmed by the FBI man's behavior, he continued, indicating toward a little huddle of fuzzy plastic on the floor, "Uh, when I tried to pick up those ones there, she flipped. So the shelf has just been empty for a couple weeks now. But what does this have to do with anything? The Cagley's are good folks, don't care how we keep the house. So you're wrong, neither one of us had a problem with anybody, not even... not even recently."

Evan clearly had no idea just how disturbed his wife was, but it wasn't hard for Lisbon to begin fitting the pieces together. She had in her career encountered plenty of mental disorders where people became intensely attached to inanimate objects, unable to control their infatuations with them, and Marjory Browder certainly appeared to fall into that obsessive category. During her interview yesterday, Jane would have easily picked up in her behavior something that betrayed this side of her, perhaps some sort of insignificant tick. And with the sheer number of collectibles at the abandoned home where William's body was found the picture of compulsion? There was no else behind this vicious crime. Lisbon could only surmise that William had somehow managed to violate whichever of the precious possessions had disappeared, and Marjorie couldn't stand the loss. She'd needed her revenge.

Lisbon snapped her eyes up to Jane to find him already looking at her from across the room. Was the motive behind William's death really so worthless? She couldn't imagine how Jane could have known this yesterday and kept himself so contained. She had never been able to wrap her mind around someone-never mind a child-losing their life over that which was so invaluable to the rest of the world. Her own family had met with great loss at the hands of those who would trade everything for the meaningless potion contained in a glass bottle... twice.

She wondered what it said about her that she had acquired preferred types of murder. She could stomach scandal and corruption. Conspiracies that twisted deeper than anyone could manage to unbury. Revenge, life for a life. But... a child? Because of cheap toys? She resisted the urge to crush the first of the hollow figures she could get her hands on. Jane kept her gaze as he held one of the cat pieces he'd been playing with out in front of him, low, and closed his fist around it. Then he uncurled his fingers, allowing the crumpled bundle of plastic and velvet peach-fuzz to tumble to the floor. Lisbon quickly looked around the room, but everyone was focused on Evan Browder, who was answering a few more questions from SA Abbott. She was grateful that no one else had seen Jane destroy something that would be considered evidence to match back to the crime scene, even if it's absence would be far from noticeable. Before looking away, she smirked and mouthed to him, "_Thank you._"

"Agents Hunan and Keith, I want you to stay here with Mr. Browder," Abbott ordered two of the field agents that had been accompanying their team. "The rest of us will be heading to the main house. Alert us immediately if Mrs. Browder makes an appearance here, instead."

That Marjory Browder was the only one with a connection to the crime scene had finally dawned on everyone, and if all went well, she would be ordering dinner from a holding cell.

"Wait, what?" her poor husband protested. "Excuse me, but what? What's happening? Could someone answer me, please?"

But the agents, aside from the two intent on peeking outside his front window curtains, had quickly filed out of his cluttered home, it would seem in pursuit of his dear, though admittedly a tad abnormal, wife.

* * *

The case of the murder of an Ohio senator's young son wrapped up quickly from there. Marjory Browder didn't bother to deny that she'd killed the boy once confronted directly with the matter. She was almost proud recounting how, after she'd found out William was breaking into her home using his parents' master key in order to collect her darling, irreplaceable "babies" to be used as target practice with his birthday BB gun, she had driven him to the abandoned house where he was ultimately found with the promise of an endless supply. Once there she used her husband's rifle to demonstrate to the child just what it was like to meet one's demise at the wrong end of a gun.

After seeing him lifeless on the floor, she'd pitied him. Marjory had known the youngster since his toddler years, had sometimes served as nanny to him, and hated knowing what a violent young man he had become. She tenderly used her apron to wipe the blood away from his face and curled him onto his side in mimic of the position he tended to sleep in. In the report put out by the profiler about an hour before Mrs. Browder was arrested, the murderer was, as Jane had said, indeed identified as female. It was the sentimental touches to the body that had suggested to any knowledgeable eye that William's killer had been a woman, and a woman who knew him, at that.

The horror of it aside, and also the disappointment that no one else knew Jane had actually solved it yesterday, Lisbon appreciated the ease with which this case was closed. After a late afternoon of going over notes, making reports, and speaking to the eager media, the FBI team was ready to call it in for the night. They would probably be here for a few more days to tie up different odds and ends before heading back to Texas, but it would be smooth sailing from here on out.

Lisbon was just opening the door to her rental car, dreaming of fast food and a warm bath in an ugly hotel room, when Jane loped over to her. "Come back to my place."

"Yeah. Later."

"No. Earlier. You can hear all sorts of life around you in a motel. I'm isolated out there and I get a bit lonely until you decide to turn up. Just come over."

"You're the one who wanted that stupid trailer. You're insane." She teased.

"Uh, no, actually, I said I'm lonely. I wish you'd pay attention." He waited for a response from her, but when she only looked at him with exaggerated pity, he persisted, "Come keep me company. We can grab something to eat, maybe watch static on the useless television."

"Well how can I turn that down?"

"You can't. Good company and creature comforts are impossible to resist for anyone."

"Alright. But you're covering dinner. You owe me money."

"Deal. Go change into something less overdressed for a campsite," he reached out to gently tug at the lapel of her navy blazer, "and meet me at the trailer, okay?"

He was up to something, that much was clear. Neither one of them went anywhere.

"Wipe that dubious look off your face. Trust me."

She pursed her lips. Then, after a few seconds' hesitation, "I'll see you in about half an hour, okay?"

He beamed at her. "That's perfect, looking forward to it. So are you, despite this outward facade of humoring me."

"Oh, go home already," Lisbon smiled back at him, as unable to resist as ever, and slipped behind the wheel of her rental. As she drove away, she noticed in her rear view mirror Jane had stayed where he was to watch her departure, then at last saw his pinpoint form go to his own vehicle, a tan pickup that had been rented for him with the trailer.

_What are we doing, Jane?_ This wasn't going to be one of their typical evenings. Of that much, she was sure.


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

* * *

Back in her hotel room that was bathed in muted tan and pink florals, Teresa found herself pacing back and forth. _Focus_, she coached herself. _There's no reason to be nervous. Just change and head over there._ Since joining the FBI, she had learned to always pack a favorite pair of worn-in jeans, trainers, and a comfortable shirt just in case she was ever left with free time on her hands at any given location. This trip she had an eggshell white sweater to pull on with her jeans, and she sighed, grateful for its familiar softness. Whatever Jane had in mind for the night, one thing, at least, would remain comfortable. Safe.

As she paused to check her hair and make-up for the umpteenth time in the big mirror that hung over a peeling faux-wooden bureau, Lisbon cursed Jane and his ability to affect her like this. Since he had re-entered her life, he had been... almost gentle with her. Jane Light, she would inwardly chuckle. But for weeks now she had struggled to understand this side of him that was more open and yielding, more intent when he focused his attention on her. Was it newfound appreciation of her following two years of absence? With Fischer and Abbott at the helm, was he somehow more comfortable being able to relate to her as a peer?

Or was this nothing more than what Patrick Jane looked like away from the torment of Red John?

For more than ten years, Teresa had not always been able to distinguish between his general amiability and more meaningful affection, both when it came to herself and to others, and it hadn't been much different in the months since their reunion. But last night, any doubt about where he meant to fit her into his new life vanished. Last night, he would have kissed her.

So she'd bolted. And she wouldn't apologize for it, not to him or herself. He had the upper-hand. She knew there was little she could hide from him, that he was able to make his decisions with an awareness of how she was feeling without her even meaning to give anything away. She, on the other hand, needed a chance to let it sink in that the warmth in his regard for her, the affection she could see in his eyes, wasn't purely a reflection of their enduring bond.

That he wanted more from their relationship.

That tonight's invitation, his insistence on seeing her earlier than usual, almost certainly had everything to do with a wish to broach the subject of _them_.

Lisbon resumed pacing.

_Trust me_, he'd implored her again today. Trust him. How could she trust someone who had spent most of their friendship keeping secrets? Using his abilities as an advantage over her more than once?

But God help her, she did. She trusted him. She trusted him because for all of the worry and challenge and frustration that he brought with him, Patrick Jane _was_ trustworthy. He had never pretended to be anything other than what he was with her. He had never tried to convince her that he was honorable, or easy, or anything but a single-minded man on a mission for retribution, despite her having made no secret of harboring disdain for his bloodlust.

No, when it came to a man like Patrick Jane, she had come to realize that the question was not a matter of trusting him. The question was, could she trust herself? Did she have the capacity to love with dignity a man she would never be able to contain? Someone whose ego and enthusiasm were sure to get ahead of his good sense? Whose greatest vice was his difficulty loving on terms other than his own?

She'd spent her whole life trying desperately to build stability around herself. The day Teresa had learned her mother would never tuck her in again, that was the last day she'd stood secure and protected on a solid foundation built for her by another. From then on out she'd been clawing at rock with bare hands, trying desperately to construct all by herself something firm and steady under her and her brothers' feet. Her father, in grief he let fester into rage, forced her to start all over time and time again until he, too, was gone. Yet somehow, shaken and wounded though she was by the end, she had indeed managed to forge her own solid ground to stand on. And to keep anyone from taking this one from her, she built around it a wall.

Jane had long managed to get close enough to shake that foundation, chisel away at the edges, but she had yet to truly, completely let him in. She'd been close, before... before McCallister and the Blake Association. Before Jane finally found his vengeance and ran away from her for good. When she closed her eyes, she could still remember the disorienting combination of warmth and chill between the setting orange sun and the ocean breeze, between Jane's sweet words to her and the taillights of his car. But she understood him, understood that the actions he took didn't speak to his regard for her so much as to his drive to take down Red John with as little collateral damage as possible.

That was something else about Patrick Jane, Lisbon smiled. She thought of the way he'd crushed that figurine today at the Browder house. He'd allowed her to keep her composure while he crossed the line, however insignificantly. Jane had never made any secret about his desire to protect her, to know she was safe, to make her happy. It was why she had lowered her walls in the first place, had started to let him in-

And like she'd always feared, her solitary foundation, the one she'd worked so hard on and had protected so well, was nearly swept away from her. Jane left. Her career crumbled. Her friends scattered.

She'd hung on, though, like she always did; made it through in one piece, began rebuilding once more. She'd even welcomed his presence back into her life. But to turn around and love Jane now, to give herself over to him completely, would require her to throw up her hands in surrender and leave herself once again vulnerable to him. But how many times could her mettle be tested? God, when he'd disappeared in New York to create that damn list...

And Jane wasn't her only concern; it was not with friendly interest that Kim Fischer had pried into their relationship months ago, all but asking whether Jane was adamant about reconnecting with a partner... or a lover. That conversation had made it apparent that there were those at the FBI who were paying attention to her personal life, already making assumptions about her. Lisbon didn't doubt there were people who thought her sudden promotion from small town sheriff to Special Agent was not only unearned by her, but secured by a pardoned felon, no less. They weren't entirely wrong, of course, as Teresa never would have crossed paths career-wise with the FBI were it not for Jane. But she hadn't worked her way up through the ranks of the CBI on anyone's coattails, or in anyone's bed. She was a good officer, made better with him by her side. So, really, if they brought their solve rate to the FBI, sheep-dip what anyone thought about her, she supposed.

Especially if they were already choosing to think it.

* * *

Thirty-two minutes later-_fashionably late_, Lisbon smirked-she pulled her car onto the dirt road that would lead to Jane's Airstream. She saw in the distance an obnoxiously bright glow where the trailer was parked.

"Oh my god..." How long could the generator that powered his trailer keep _this_ going?

There were lights everywhere, thousands of tiny, sparkly white holiday lights that had been strung from tree to tree around his campsite. A campfire cast a yellow glow in the center of it all, and on every surface, from a stump, to a cooler, to the picnic table, tea lights made the lower half of this dazzling scene twinkle like the string lights above. When she opened her door after parking next to the tan pickup, Lisbon could hear soft orchestra music playing. Was he serious?

"Uh, Jane?" She called out, tentatively walking toward the illuminated spectacle before her.

"Teresa!" She was coming up from the back side of the RV, and he popped out from somewhere in front of it, nearly in silhouette due to the sheer number of lights behind him. As she got closer, she could only imagine how much effort Jane put in to creating this display judging by his hair having freed itself from his usual tight style, blond curls now falling over his forehead. He was dressed as casually as she in jeans and a thin gray sweater, sleeves rolled to his elbows._  
_

She stopped in front of him, and, taking in the lights, the candles, the campfire, him-_crap, he looked good_-suddenly felt shy. "Hi."

Jane smiled down at her, starting to feel a bit bashful himself now that she was actually here. "Hi." He breathed, barely above a whisper.

"So, what is this?"

"This is... it's just you and me. Don't even think about it." He shoved jittery hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Neither one seemed to know what to say. Lisbon decided maybe he was right. She'd done enough thinking. For years, she'd done enough thinking. Maybe she could stop, at least for a while, and enjoy whatever changes would take place tonight. "Um... I think I was promised food on your tab."

"Yes, that you were, I didn't forget." He seemed grateful for the reprieve of having to explain himself right that moment; denial would serve the two well until they became a little more comfortable with... this. The her and him, he'd said.

Jane led her to the picnic table, and from amidst the tea lights lifted up two thin branches about the length of yardsticks. Close behind him, Lisbon's mouth dropped open when she saw what was on the end of each one.

"Hotdogs?"

"Over a campfire. You can't camp and not cook your hotdogs over a fire, of course. Here," he extended one speared link out to her. She took it, speechless, and together they made their way to the fire and held their respective dinners out over the flames.

They stood side by side not speaking for a few minutes, the only noise coming from a little speaker attached to his phone where it sat nearby on a folding lawn chair. Roasted hot dogs and string music... "This is silly, Jane."

"What's wrong with silly? You need a little silly, keeps the spirit young."

Lisbon brought her hotdog to within inches of her face for inspection. "Mine's done."

He made a strangled noise beside her. "Yours _was_ done. Now it's just burnt. For some reason I thought you knew how to cook."

She rolled her eyes. _Whatever_. "Did you remember rolls?"

* * *

Hotdogs-with rolls, of course, what did she take him for?-potato chips, and a bag of marshmallows toasted two by two over the fire made up their dinner. Jane and Lisbon relaxed in lawn chairs that sat low to the ground, easy banter and debate between them, the way it always had been. They'd finished their meal at least an hour before and now just savored each other's company under the night sky and lights that hung from the branches above them. The tea lights had long ago all burned out, and the campfire, too, was dying down, no one having bothered to feed it some twigs while they enjoyed their own supper.

Jane felt a knot in his chest as he looked at Lisbon. She was open and animated, having given in to the fun of the evening not long after arriving. He hoped he wasn't going to cause her to retreat now, but he wanted to hold her, to feel her near him. Being able to have her near enough to reach out and touch was not something he took for granted anymore. "Dance with me, Teresa."

She slowly shook her head. Not to say no, but as if to clear away a fog to discover she was actually alone in her room instead of out here with this man, this man she knew completely yet hardly at all, who had intentions for the evening that weren't exactly vague. Still, "Jane, what's going on, here? What are we doing?"

"We're being us. We're good at that." He stood and offered his hand to her. "C'mere. Don't think. Not yet."

She didn't resist any further and allowed him to pull her flush against him. He could feel her pulse fluttering wildly in her wrist as her right hand slid into his left, but where he had anticipated her being tense, she melted into his arms and settled her cheek on his shoulder.

Once, they'd been exactly like this before, years ago. He'd been teasing of her then, beginning to notice the change in her regard for him. At the time he wasn't yet willing to accept Lisbon's love, but every so often, like a night at the prom, he'd permit himself little tastes of what it would be like to romance her. He'd regretted goading her into that dance the moment she'd pressed against him, completely overwhelmed by how he felt with her in his arms safe and warm and alive. He'd fought closing his eyes and giving in to the emotions that tried to bubble up through him. _He wouldn't let go of his responsibility to his family... he wouldn't just stay here, where the whole world maybe wasn't as bad as everything he had been through and seen suggested... he wouldn't just stay here, with her_...

Jane brought his thoughts back to the present, trying to take his own advice to not think. He needed to look forward. Forward, where he could welcome everything he felt. He pressed his face into her hair and allowed the emotion he'd denied himself so long ago to just wash over him. He heard her give a faint hum and briefly tightened the arm he had around her waist in answer. They stayed like that for a long time, swaying slowly to the instrumental music he'd chosen earlier. Patrick had hoped it wouldn't be too kitschy for the evening on top of the lights and candles he'd gotten up early that morning to hunt down at a local department store, but now he was just grateful for the mindless calming, sentimental effect it had.

Time passed unmeasured, and he began to wonder the wisdom of it with there still being work for her to do the following day. Was it already the following day? He pulled back from their embrace, and forwent any reservations about the hour once Lisbon looked up at him. Her eyes were damp, glittering with the reflection of the thousands of tiny lamps he'd hung for her. He realized they both had tears running down their faces. This whole evening, this was huge. It changed everything and meant everything, and they both knew it. There was no backing out now.

"You're beautiful," Jane choked out, unable to help himself.

When she let out a nervous laugh and looked away from him, he gently swiped her wet cheek with his fingers. "Don't get shy on me," his voice cracked, and his chest was aching. He watched the way her eyes darted between his own and whatever she found so interesting behind him, probably an escape route. "Teresa..." he started, "Lisbon... Teresa... I never pictured trying to..." He paused to try and gain his composure. "I wanted to get you something fine and take you somewhere impressive. I wanted you to be able to look around you and see just how much you mean to me. But then it occurred to me that as lowly and unrefined as this... as this 'stupid' trailer is, this is what's a big part of our future, Lisbon. _This_ is our starting point." His smile was tremulous and he ran his fingers over her cheek again.

She closed her eyes to steady herself, and when she opened them, she wasn't looking away from him anymore. "Patrick..." she tested the feel of his given name on her tongue.

"Patrick?" He grinned, surprised.

She didn't want to dwell on it, still uncertain of the taste. "You could have consulted me on the trailer if this was gonna be a 'we' thing."

Again, she surprised him, and he was struck with a wave of tenderness for her. He could see how tense she was, that she was fighting an urge to run. But at some point, having had a chance to consider him after he had made his intentions fairly clear yesterday, she chose him. And here she stood, not shutting him out, but bravely letting her heart lead her despite some part of her instinct still telling her to retreat to safety. He was proud of her, and he sniffed back a fresh round of tears.

"You really don't like it?"

"Well, I didn't say that-"

"Is there something you would suggest instead? The motel wouldn't work, I should warn you I'm a screamer."

Lisbon's eyes widened and she blushed. "I... will keep that in mind." They shared a smile, but then she grabbed the fingers of his left hand, humor set aside, for now. "Jane, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything." At her serious turn, he sobered too.

"Promise you will always run back. To me. Tell me I can count on that."

"Lisbon, I'm not running away anymore. I'm not." He insisted when she started to object.

"Patrick. Promise me." She said, her voice husky from tears and nerves.

Oh, she was absolutely stuck with him if she was going to keep saying _that_ name like... _that_. Christ. He took her face in both of his hands, thumbs brushing the soft hair at her temples. She looked up at him, wide eyes full of trepidation. "I know sometimes it took me a while, but since the day I met you, I have _always_ run back. I will _always_ run back to you. Trust me," he murmured, and, not being able to wait any longer, pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was gentle, chaste, withholding. After a heartbeat, or rather at the pace his heart was presently going, a thousand heartbeats, Jane drew back to look at her, to make absolutely certain they were on the same page. Despite his intentions to go slowly and take the time to properly woo her, when Lisbon leaned toward him trying to keep their connection, the floodgates opened. He pushed his fingers further into her dark hair and pulled her mouth to his in a hard, brazen kiss. Not breaking contact with her lips, Patrick backed her up until she was pinned between his body and the cool metal of the Airstream.

Emboldened by his intensity, refusing to hold back, Lisbon returned his kisses. Her trembling hands ran over his hair, his back, and into his hair again. When he trailed his lips across her jaw and down her neck, she couldn't hold back a moan, making him smile against her. His right hand left the soft skin of her cheek to begin sliding down... down past her shoulders, the curve of her waist, down on a mission to do something else he'd waited a long time to do, and, finally, his palm reached her denim-clad bottom.

Everything went dark.

"Oh," Jane lifted his mouth from where he'd been gently teasing her neck. He was breathless. And sheepish. "Generator's out."

Lisbon snorted.

* * *

END

* * *

Final A/N:

I wonder what a wooing Jane really looks like? To be honest, I have trouble picturing what the writer's behind the show would give that quirky character to do once he really set his sights on Lisbon. I only know he told her he wouldn't seduce her over a meal, so instead I tried to think of something more that was slightly grandeur, a little cheesy, and a lot sentimental, kinda like Jane.

As for Lisbon, as strong as she is, I allowed Mashburn and Jane's opinion of her ("You have a damaged intensity that's quite attractive,") influence my portrayal. That she doesn't always go into everything with complete confidence is a wonderfully human side to her character that I wish was explored more in the series.

Thanks so much to everyone who made it this far and hope you enjoyed my little character study!


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